A Story Rewritten
by Vorenn
Summary: An autobiography of Tidus, though not the one from the game. A Tidus rewritten as a formal chronomancer. A much smarter, much more capable, much less annoying Tidus.


My father was a man named Jecht. In Zanarkand, city of light and joy, my father was beloved by the masses. His image was on all the billboards, on the great screens on buildings. He was used for advertisements by great industries. He was uplifted by the people of Zanarkand, as the greatest of the Zanarkand Abes to have ever lived. And, quite possibly, he was.

But, also, he was a terrible person: a drunkard, a womanizer, and verbally abusive. His wife was not much better: totally obsessed with her husband, to the point where she neglected her child. Truth be told, I loathed them both.

My name is Tidus. I was the son of Jecht. I lived in the shadow of that great beast known to the masses as Jecht. I rejected them both, in their totality. He was an arrogant brute, in my opinion, a man who cared only for himself. And she, the fool woman, only existed for him. And so I spent my days at school, especially the library, until it closed. It was there that I first learned of my calling in life: chronomancy.

Time! Time ruled all things! There was no denying this. There was no defying this central fact of existence! But if one could rule time, truly you had power. Slowly, I learned to master simple things: how to speed things up, how to slow things down, how to totally stop things. My progress was small, but worthwhile.

I remember the first time I actually challenged Jecht.

"Hey, kid," he said in his gruff voice. It was as I was approaching our home. He was practicing blitzball, as usual. I ignored him, and continued to the front door.

"Hey, runt! Get back here! I'm talking to you!" he shouted. I stopped and turned.

"Yes, sir?" I asked.

"Come here and hit a blitzball."

I looked at him. He held the ball under one of his arms. It was strange to me, him acting this way. I had mostly stayed out of his way, and he had stayed out of mine. I didn't like him suddenly having an interest in me, and invading the privacy of my life. I thought we could simply live, segregated from each other.

"Sir?"

"What, are you deaf now, kid?"

"I'm not interested in blitzball, sir. I understand it is very important to you, but it, quite frankly, isn't to me. Excuse me." I began to turn and walk away.

"Kid, I don't think you get it. This is _my game. _I can't have my son being some wimpy little runt."

I turned back to him. "So, this is about your reputation. For a minute there, I actually thought you had taken an interest in me. Or perhaps mother had, and had pressured you. Well, that settles that matter. Excuse me, sir." I once again began to turn.

And he flung the ball in my direction.

I watched it speed towards me, spinning like a great spherical saw, ready to shred me to pieces. My fingers began to wriggle on their own. I began to channel mana through my body. And as it approached me, I hurled the built-up energy in my body at the thing.

And it froze in midair.

Immobile it hung there, frozen about four feet above the ground. Jecht was staring at it, mouth agape. He then shifted his gaze to me, and anger filled his eyes.

"What'd you do, boy?" he growled at me.

I glared back at him. I felt anger. Not the hot anger that filled Jecht on an almost daily basis. Mine was cold. So cold it could have frozen hell itself over.

"I thought many things of you, Jecht, but I didn't think you were so stupid as to attempt to assault _me_. Has the drink already filled you, this early in the day? Or did you overhear people commenting about your age and potential retirement again?"

He stared at me then. He had apparently not anticipated me actually fighting back and being willing to stare him down. I had grown hard in those many months in the library. A wall had been built between me and humanity. A wall of knowledge and understanding, and a wall of power, constructed by the force of time itself.

"What'd you say?" he shouted.

I channeled the magic again. The blitzball teleported behind him. Then, I released the spell of stopping. It hit him square in the back and knocked him over. He fell on his face, the blitzball bouncing off him and then a few more times, until it fell off solid ground, and into the water just below our house.

"Urgh," he grunted. "Little rat…"

"This little rat just handed your ass to you on a silver platter," I sneered. "The next time you try to hit me, in any way, shape, or form, remember that. And consider this: This is only what I know now. Imagine what I _will be capable of!_"

"I didn't raise you to-"

"Jecht, you didn't raise me, period. Now get off the ground. I may hate your guts, but I will admit that you're tougher than that. Get up, and we'll head inside, and never speak of this again."

And we never did. I suspect it was out of shame, at having been humiliated by a child, that he never mentioned it. I didn't care. I spent my time learning, honing my skills. Soon enough, the library I had restricted myself to had nothing further to offer me. And so, on my own, I proceeded to go to the Central Library of Zanarkand, and study more still. My intellect flourished there, where it had only reached the stage of budding in that small school library. History, philosophy, theology, mathematics, physics, geography, geology, astronomy, astrology, all things were at my disposal there. I loathed going home. I would have stayed there all the time if I could, but, as the head librarian put it, "Even the sun must rest, and so must we, as should you, little scholar."

The librarian quickly became the father I never had truly had. Or, grandfather perhaps would have been a better term, considering how old he was. With his round spectacles and trimmed beard, and purple robes, he too was a chronomancer, and thus he not only became my grandfather-figure, but my teacher, as well, and he exposed me to the greater secrets of time.

Needless to say, my father and I were not on speaking terms, and my mother remained so caught up in him, whenever he was around, that I remained nonexistent to her. That hurt a little, but not much. He occasionally glanced my way, and opened his mouth. I would simply look at him, calmly, but with a flat look that said volumes. The dinner table was always set for three. He would talk to my mother, and she would go along with everything he said. I would ignore them both. I would finish, set my plate in the dishwasher, wash up, and then head to my room for further studying. That was the way it was.

Sometimes I would hear my door creak open, and dare a glance backwards. My mother, she would stare at me, with a somewhat saddened look.

"How was your day, dear?" she would always say.

"Fine. And yours?" I would reply, turning back to my books.

"Good, dear. I'm glad to hear it." And then the door would close. And I would return to the world of written words and great magical mysteries.

And then one day, he was gone. Jecht, the messiah of the Zanarkand Abes, had vanished. They formed great search parties to find him. They looked for days, weeks on end. My mother was in a frantic state for all that time. I remained as calm as ever

"What if he's dead?" she asked me one time.

"Then he's dead, and the world will move on without him," I said lamely at the dinner table, flipping through the pages in what is to this day my favorite book, _Temporal Natures of the Heavens. _

She stared at me. "Do you really hate him so?" she asked me.

I looked up at her. My gaze was as calm as ever. I twined my fingers over the pages of the open book.

"Hate, on some level, requires fear. I do not fear him. I have not feared him for years. Thus I do not hate him. He disgusts me, more than anything. But, his existence, like everyone's, is as swift as a breeze. Such is the nature of Time. If he has died, he has died. That's it." And with that I turned back to my book.

"If he's died, you'll never be able to tell him how you really feel," she said.

"Why would I need to?" I replied.

"Were we…such bad parents?" she asked me.

And that made me give her a sharp look. "You were negligent. He was self-centered. Whether that makes you bad or good parents, I'll leave up to others to decide."

She stared at me, and tears began to well up in her eyes. She sat down at the table and cried. I shut my book and left her there.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed as I passed through the door to the hall.

"Mother," I said, with a soft smile, "you have nothing to apologize for. I, for one, don't really care." And with that, I left.

Soon after that she started to grow ill. She became thinner and paler. I stayed out of the house more and more, and away from her more still. The librarian and I became closer during this time. He too asked me how I felt, and I repeated the same. He frowned thoughtfully, but continued to teach me, occasionally with worried glances at me.

Then the man called Auron appeared. He was about my father's age, with a red coat and long black hair. He was a serious man. But I did not like the way his eyes would follow me. It seemed as if he was planning something. And I dislike being manipulated by anyone.

He would occasionally approach me with questions. "What's your name?" "Where are you going?" And slowly he worked his way into my life. He would watch me and my mother at times, and made some rather snide comments to me on more than one occasion.

"Your mother is hurting."

"I know. She misses Jecht."

"It's causing her a great deal of heartache."

"I imagine so, yes."

"You should comfort her."

"That's not how it works Auron."

He had stared at me with cold eyes then. "Oh? And how is it supposed to work?"

I stared back at him, calmly. "A person that really doesn't care about someone else, can't expect other parties to suddenly give a damn about them. That's not how it works. You treat others as you wish to be treated. She treated me as nonexistent, and Jecht as the center of the universe. I fell into my books as a result of having a mostly absent mother-figure. She can't expect me to comfort her, when she never truly comforted me."

He had stared at me, silently. "This isn't how a family is supposed to be," he said.

I had gazed up at him, and in response said, "Whoever said this was family, Auron? There was only Jecht and me, living in a tempestuous territory. She clung to him like a rock. And now that he's gone, she has nothing to hold on to. Thankfully, I found better things to cling to earlier on: time and magic."

He looked at me. "Boy, have you ever cried once for him, or for her?"

I blinked in surprise. "I don't think I've ever cried, Auron. Crying implies the expectation of comfort from someone. I was never going to get that here, so I just never did it. And I filled my time with things that wouldn't let me cry."

He looked at me for a long time. "How did Jecht do this much damage to a young boy? I know he was a bit foolish but…"

I smiled then. "How did Jecht make me?" I laughed then. And abruptly stopped, scowled, and glared at this interloper in my life. "_I made myself, Auron! _I made myself because there was no one else to lean on! Jecht was too self-absorbed, and mother was a fool obsessed with a man! Of all the temporal things in the world to be obsessed with, she chose a man! A man who cheated on her whenever she wasn't around, and was drunk half the time, to boot!"

"You shouldn't say such things about them!" Auron said.

"What is true, is true!" I snarled back at him. "I don't know what your relationship with my father was, Auron, and quite frankly, I don't care. But, don't try to cover up to me what he was. I know every crack in that perfect façade that he showed all of Zanarkand! And I know how deep those cracks run!"

Realizing that my calm had been broken, I took a deep breath and relaxed.

"Did you know, that Jecht once tried to strike me?" I asked him softly, as I looked away from him, instead looking out of one of the living room windows.

"What?" Auron gasped, and stared at me.

I smiled softly. "He was interested in me only for a moment, and even then only as a side thought. His primary concern was for his reputation. He tried to force me to play blitzball: his game, as he used to call it. When I refused, he tried to hurl the ball at me, aiming straight for my face."

"No…" he whispered. "He wouldn't…"

"I suspect he was partially drunk at the time, though I can't be sure. I don't get close enough to him to smell anything. Anyway, I froze the ball in midair before it hit me, then teleported it behind him, and made it strike him in the back instead." My soft smile had turned into a grin. "He never tried _that _again. In fact we never spoke again, as a result."

Then I looked back at Auron. My eyes were hard then. Even I could feel how hard and cold they had become. They were my mother's eyes, actually. Hers were filled with warmth whenever Jecht had been around, they actually glowed. The few times I had asked for something, they had always seemed somewhat empty. I remember that most about her. Especially when I asked for a library card, she had seemed confused about me needing her to sign a form, but she had done it, but I think it was only because it took two seconds to accomplish the task.

Now, in me, those blue eyes were ice.

"But, I made myself, Auron, in response to my environment. Don't blame me if you don't like what you see. I'm just a child. I've had to make do with what has been at my disposal."

There was suddenly a crash, and I leaped out of my chair, and spun in its direction. It was my mother. She was staring at me, with tears streaming from her face. I looked at the floor. It was some broken dishes. I reached out with my magic, and undid the damage she had caused by reversing time. Shortly, they were back in her arms, whole again. But, that was all the rewinding I could manage at that point. Her memory of what she had heard was still there. Out of pity, I might have undone that if I had the power.

Then again, I might have just been vindictive enough to leave it there.

"Tidus…" she whispered.

I looked at her for a long time, and then I said, "Well, now you know. There's no going back now. What will you do, mother?"

She stared at me, tears falling down from her eyes, in hopelessness. I quickly stepped over to her and grabbed the dishes before she dropped them again.

"Auron," I said as I entered the kitchen and began opening cabinets, "I think you should leave."

There was a silence. Then, "Yes, I think I will." And I heard the door open and close shortly afterwards.

When I exited the kitchen, she was sitting at the table, hands over her eyes, breathing heavily. She seemed thinner and paler than before.

"Tidus," she whispered, "why didn't you tell me?" She looked up at me, then.

I shrugged. "Would you have listened to me?" And I went into my room, grabbed my backpack, stuffed a few books inside, and walked towards the front door, headed for the library. She began to sob as I opened it.

And that irritated me. I spun around, and glared at her. "Crying will not help you solve your problems, mother. I suggest you find something else to fill in the void that Jecht has left you with. Goodbye."

Unfortunately, she did not heed my advice. She became even more ill, and she ultimately died. I was left with everything, then. Jecht had left everything in his will to her, except a substantial donation to the blitzball association, and a few charities, and with her death everything fell to me. So, I had a home, money, and a way to live. And for that I honored their memory, by making a monthly pilgrimage to their graves and praying for their souls for a few hours, and placing flowers there. Auron would always come with me. I don't know why, but he did.

After that, I fell even further into my studies. I became obsessed with time magic. My teacher no longer seemed quite so worried about me anymore. By then, I had far outdone my classmates, and, a few years later, he had offered me an opportunity I had not expected. Chronomancers had organized themselves differently than many other magical associations. Most simply constructed guilds. We, instead, built what could only be described as monastic institutions, where we studied endlessly, endured backbreaking labor, chanted spells until our voices broke, and worshipped the source of our power: time. I had joined them with a zeal that could only be matched by a wildfire ready to consume a forest. The studying was easy, the chanting not too difficult, but the labor got to me after a while. They needed to survive on more than just the dues from members. You would scrub pots, clean chocobos, make pottery and even beer, help with construction, and do whatever else you could to cut down on expenses to the group. On the upside, though, it made me physically fit as well, to the point where I began to notice similarities to Jecht in my physique, which made me cringe to tell you the truth.

I had to live with them for a few years, during which time I asked Auron and the old lady next door to watch over the house. After that, when they were sure that those values that they wanted to be instilled into me would stick forever, they let me move back into my home. They had given me the purple robes during my last day at the community house, to show that I was one of them. I would wake up every morning, and head immediately over to the house to get to work after that. The labor, the studying, all remained the same, except for where I slept. What little I personally needed, such as utilities and food, came from what mother had left behind for more.

My hair grew out as the years passed, and I realized I began to resemble my mother more and more. I decided to let it grow to my shoulders. My body began to resemble Jecht's more in form, the more I worked at the community house, and more than a few women in the neighborhood began to notice. I, for one, didn't care. I had work to do.

Auron's hair grayed as time went on. The house remained mostly the same. My power grew, with time, to the point where I was actually considered to become the next Abbot of the House of Time. I was giving it some serious thought, I remember, when I was approached by some visitors whom I had never expected to see. One was a large man, bald, in a gray suit, and the other was tall with short, trimmed beard and mustache, and a head of gray hair in a blue suit.

They rang the doorbell and I answered. "May I help you, sirs?" I asked.

"Tidus?" the tall one asked, astonished. His voice was sharp and deep.

"Yes?" I replied.

"You look remarkably like your mother! Oh, I'm sorry, please forgive me. My name is Toulon. And this is my associate, Margreer. We are representatives of the Zanarkand Blitzball Association. May we come in? We have something to discuss with you."

"Of course. Please, do, have a seat," I said and opened the way for them. They sat down on the couch in the living room, and I took a chair opposite them, folding my purple robes as I sat down.

"Mr. Tidus," Toulon began, "we have heard about your dramatic rise in your group. We were, admittedly, rather surprised that you chose such a path."

"Yes, " Margreer agreed, in his own rather gravel-like voice. "We expected you to…well, that is to say…um…"

"You thought I would follow in my father's footsteps," I commented, as I smoothed my robes absently.

"Well, yes," Margreer mumbled.

"And why would you think such a thing?" I asked simply. "Was I ever at any of his events? Was I ever in the crowds cheering? No. Quite simply, I stayed away from him as much as possible. Now, why are you here? I'm starting to get irritated."

They stared at me, then Toulon said slowly, "We know how Jecht was to people in private. The perfect public face, so that he'd be worshipped like a living god, but he was almost lethal to everyone in the association in private. We understand your…desire to step away from his path."

"Simply put, "Margreer said, "we get how much you hated the man. A lot of people in the association did too. Well, those who didn't worship the ground he walked on, like he wanted them to, anyway. And then he started drinking as he started aging, and things got worse."

"And then he vanished, praise whatever gods exist in the universe," I muttered. "But the crowds still worship him, even ten years later. As if he was some messiah, promising to return again one day."

"There are some groups that actually think that," Toulon muttered.

"And that is why we are here," Margreer jumped in. "The match in a few months is going to be dedicated to Jecht. Ten years since his disappearance, you understand. We would like you to give a speech then, in honor of your father."

"Not in this lifetime," I said bluntly. "The man is hopefully in some kind of hell, rotting. I'm not going to honor him, least of all to please a blitzball crowd."

They sighed. "Well, then, here's the second way around this matter," Toulon said. "We will offer the House of Time a substantial amount of money in exchange for this service."

I blinked. "I've never seen someone so honestly offer a bribe, before."

"We have no reason to hide our ugliness. In the Blitzball Association, we are openly, refreshingly corrupt," he replied with a grin.

"I have actually gained a measure of respect for you people. How much?"

Toulon grinned behind his moustache. "Enough, Mr. Tidus. Believe me, with the amount of people coming to this game, we're not even afraid of the kind of money we're going to lose to your group and how it will affect our profits."

"Show me the numbers," I replied, with a grin. And with that, I thought, my supremacy would be assured. I would be Abbot, free to access the higher mysteries, free to manipulate powers I had never dreamed of. And I wouldn't have to pay stupid fees anymore. And my political enemies would be crushed forever.

Unfortunately, things did not go quite as I had planned.


End file.
